


Life Everlasting - the Secrets of the Istari

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2004-11-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 17:08:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3862721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gandalf and Saruman in the Early Days.</p><p>A look at the beginnings of Gandalf's mission on M.E., and his relationship with his Mentor - up to the final days. </p><p>A.U. only for added plot.</p><p>Cameos by Galadriel, Radagast, others.</p><p>STRONG SLASH -ANGST - DRAMA</p><p>**The Istari are involved in slashy goodness- if you don't like don't read***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Chapter One

 

 

I open groggy, unfocused eyes, and try to get a view of what is around me. Ah, a voice! Distant, but sweet, enticing. Closer now. I hear words in the familiar Quenya : “It will take you some time to get acclimated, don’t worry… ” So familiar! I know the owner of that rich, deep voice. But I cannot recall. I see his face through a fog, and a warm rush of recognition flows through me.

I blink again, and strain to see clearly; he is gazing at me with a strange, bemused expression- and something else- what?  
The tall figure, bearded- his long beard is black, framed with edges of white- his hair is jet black, with ivory just beginning to touch the temples. He wears it long, cascading down over his broad shoulders, and I see he is wearing a shimmering white robe- he seems nearly to be made of white light.

I blink again : Curumo, I think. Beleg ar yaara, Aratar! Mighty and ancient, Holy, Exalted One! My heart trembles to be in his presence.

He smiles at me slightly, and speaks again: :

“Yeeta sinome, vorima laito! Marl-yaa sinya!” ( Look here, everlasting youth! Your new home! )-

and I struggle once more to gain vision in my new body, and the Lord Curumo once more passes lingering eyes over my newly created form.

He reaches out to me, and I feel his touch; long, elegant Istar fingernails graze my face lightly, and he mutters something I cannot quite understand, low under his breath.

His eyes peer into me with an intensity that is almost unendurable. I feel intensely aware of my naked newly-created state, suddenly, and I make a tremendous effort to sit up. It is a valiant effort, but I cannot manage it, and I only earn a scold from my noble mentor:

“Orna, orna, ascar ore !” ( Hasty, hasty, impetuous heart! )-

he comes closer, and I can smell the scent of him, musky-sweet, intensely masculine and unique.

He lifts me up to a sitting position, and I can finally take in my surroundings and situation. I seem to be in a semi-dark room, or perhaps it is only dark to my new eyes; I am having so much difficulty seeing! Curumo has a radiance around him so powerful he actually gives off light, and this seems to be the only source, save for one small candle I see in the dimly perceived room.

My great teacher and protector has been watching me silently all this time, as I slowly try to adjust to the body. Now he sighs deeply, and says: “You must get used to speaking in the tongues of men, now. No more of our mother-tongue, for a while. I will teach you everything you need to know -everything.”

He repeats “everything”, I do not know why. He continues to look me over, and again, I am acutely aware of the body, and its nakedness, and his eyes upon me like dark living swords penetrating my very soul; I shiver as I contemplate his steady gaze.

I try to speak: I succeed in making a very strange noise, and I try again, as he regards me, silently. “Lo-rd, Lord Cur-a-mo. Curu-mo. My lord.” I finish, exhausted but triumphant. He frowns, and instead of the praise I foolishly hoped for, almost like a child, I only receive another chastisement:

“No, no, Olórin - do not address me as Lord. Or ‘Curumo’. Remember! Get used to the tongues of men! Saru-mahn. Say it! Here on Middle Earth I am Sa-ru-man!”

And so I begin again, “Saru-mahnn?”

He smiles at me, and seems placated : “Yes, that is correct! Good, then. Now- put this on your self!” He throws a grey cloak at me, and I look at it in confusion; “Put it on! Your- appearance- is distracting to me!” I do not understand yet what “distracting” means, exactly, so I take it to mean he does not like to see this new body of mine.

I struggle to make my hands and arms work well enough to put on the grey garment, and finally I am clothed, and covered. Curu- no, no, Saruman- does not assist me, but he does watch me, and I feel as if his eyes are devouring me, somehow. This “distraction” must be a very compelling thing, indeed.

He steps close to me: “Arise, GANDALF, for that is your name here! Arise, and take your place in the Heren Istarion!”

Strange:

is that me? I wonder, disorientated, looking into the looking-glass, some days later.

I see an rather elderly face- what did I expect to see?- and I study its features. This is the face I will wear for a very long time, until our mission here is done. I have been left alone by Saruman- as he wishes, that is what I shall call him- and I have been engaged in becoming familiar with this body.

Very curious: my new fleshly abode is built very powerfully, and seems to be youthful, and strong- yet, my appearance is of a much older man, and I wear a long beard, and it is already grey! My hair is also long ( and grey ) in the back and sides, though not nearly as long as Saruman’s, which is far past his shoulders.

I am surprised out of my mirror-gazing by Saruman, who I am still not at ease around. He is fond of slipping up behind me and- just- watching me. I am alternately repelled, and then curious about this.

And now he is staring at me again, unabashedly, uncaring that I have caught him doing so. I turn around slowly, unsure what to say; instead, it is he who speaks:

“We are sent down here as guides and guardians, as you already know. Therefore we are forced to take on the appearances of ancient wisdom. It was not of my doing, I assure you, belethil!”

Saruman, I have discovered, does a great many things that he has forbidden me to do. He still speaks the Eldar/Valar tongue Quenyan frequently, and I have heard many of his spell-castings using Quenyan speech. And just now, he has called me a Divine radiance in Quenyan- a compliment to be sure, but I do not understand his rules; however, I will try to abide by them.

The compliments, in fact, multiply and continue :

elerrina lind (star-crowned song),sinda-silme (grey starlight), alcarin ancalima (glorious light giver)- and they are delivered at moments in time when there is no real opening for such a thing to be said: however, Saruman says them anyway.

His glances are more severe, and intense, every day now, and I am aware of his – shall we say- affection towards me. I am flattered and shocked and fearful, all at once.

Flattered because he is a Great Maia, the Head of my Istari Order- Curumo the Exalted -and I respect him in a way that is beyond words. Shocked because he has always behaved in such a cold and distant fashion, and never seemed to exude any warmth in my direction ( or any other ); and finally, fearful because at times, he acts in ways that- well- do not seem quite right.

In the very short time I have been in this body of mine, I have seen and heard much that is irrational, and arrogant from him, but far more troubling is the unstable nature of his personality. Once, he very nearly cursed the Valar themselves, and it seemed to be only with great effort, that he restrained himself. I fear my beloved mentor is not quite what he is thought to be.

But as my caution and concern grow, so also grows my affection, and devotion, and respect.

I find he is on my mind ever and always throughout the day, no matter where I am sent to here and there, on various missions. By the end of a year, I cannot imagine life without him.

By the end of two years, I refuse to even contemplate the idea.

And at the end of five years and a day, my well-loved teacher and guide summons me to him, for what will turn out to be an extraordinary meeting.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and Saruman in the Early Days.

I ride to him at the break of dawn, and leave my business with the Elves of LothLorien; only the small matter of a suspicion of the Dark Lord Sauron re-appearing, possibly, in Middle Earth.

I am fairly certain, in fact, that this is exactly what Saruman wishes to discuss with me. I am disturbed by the mention of Sauron, for several reasons: first of all, he is one of our kind- the Maiar – and his fall at Morgoth’s instigation was a great tragedy.

I think of his story as very sad, and tragic indeed; also, if he has returned to Middle Earth to wreck havoc in some power play, what will that entail?

The Necromancer – that is the name of the suspicious being that is thought to quite possibly be Sauron. The Elves are nearly certain it is him, and they have given me grave tidings of what may be coming. Dol Guldur is perhaps giving sanctuary to a great wickedness. It is with a heavy heart I ride to Isengard this day.

My lord Saruman has told me of his own arrival here at Isengard in 2759, settling at the great obsidian tower of Orthanc :

“I returned from the East, alcarin-silme, and eventually came here. Many wanderings have I made, and I have learned much- and all the words of men and speech of Ents! Now you are here, and I no longer am alone in my wisdom.”

I make my way to his inner sanctum- his jumbled and chaotic study- and he greets me with a radiant smile- so rare!- and says,

“Ah, Olórin! You have come! I have news, wonderful news, melda-nya! We are about to play host to the first convening of the White Council!”

“The ‘White Council’ -? And what is that, Aratar (holy one)?” I ask him.

He smiles still, and I wonder at it, but I am pleased he is in such a good mood.

“Ah-” he says softly, “Well, it is to be comprised of Elves- and Istari! And since we are the only Istari- I believe we are in very good standing, Gandalf! At least from a point of view of positioning, and the like!”

I smile back at him, but I do not understand why he is concerned with “positioning”, if we are among allies.

“What about Radagast?” I remember, suddenly, and this does not get a good reaction: “Radagast!” Saruman spits the name out with venomous dislike- “I forgot about him! Not difficult to do- ah, what a tedious and wearisome companion he was on my first journey here to Middle Earth!”

He walks close to me, and we are standing only inches apart; “I have high hopes for you, my Gandalf, yes, high hopes indeed! So far, you have not bored me, or wearied me with your presence- no, far from it!”

He inclines his magnificent head slightly, and leans in towards me- I do not know why, but I close my eyes, and I feel what must be his mouth upon mine, hot and wet. I experience a searing rush of excitement, and as he lifts his lips off mine, his fingers trace along my lips, dragging long nails gently across, and then he place his lips on mine again, and this time pushes his tongue inside my mouth, as he holds my face in his hands.

“Wha- what are you doing, Aratar?”, I ask him breathlessly, and he puts a finger to his lips to signal my silence, and then again our tongues resume their unusual union.

After what seems like an Age, he breaks away from me again; I stare into his eyes, caught in the endless black ocean, and I am pulled under the merciless tides.

Finally, he speaks, in a voice that is both loving and strict: “ We must prepare, for the Council meeting is this eve! There is time enough for this!”

I ache, and seethe, in a thousand different ways at this moment, but I nod mutely, and try to gather my confused thoughts.

And so, the newly formed White Council gathers in the Garden of Isengard; and Saruman and I sit next to one another ( “We need to present a united front!” he tells me, with a grave expression on his face, and again, I do not understand );

Radagast arrives, late, unfortunately, and he greets Saruman very politely:

“Hail, Curumo, my dearest friend, it is wonderful to see you aga-” - “Yes, yes, of course!” Saruman cuts him off sharply, and turns rudely away. Radagast looks at him curiously, and then greets me courteously. I return the salutation. Saruman glares at me angrily.

After many greetings are exchanged among the many Elven dignitaries, it is decided that a Leader ought to be chosen- Saruman gives me a knowing glance, as Elrond first takes the speakers circle:

“My friends! We must have a leader who can take us through the good and the bad, and all that may come! Wise, yet tempered with mercy. May we have a nomination?” There is mumbling all around, and then I speak up : “I, Gandalf the Grey, of the Istar, I nominate Saruman the White!”

There is more whispering, and hushed voices.

And then Galadriel, the Lady of the Wood, with whom I have just spent a very pleasant few days, stands up, a slight frown upon her face. She begins speaking:

“My friends, I am sure we are all aware of the great reputation of our friend Lord Curunír, truly, his reputation precedes him- ”

I steal a glance at Saruman next to me, and he is openly glaring at Galadriel – I am concerned- if I can see it, does he not realize others can as well? Galadriel is certainly aware of it, she is looking at Saruman straight in the eye, and he returns her gaze fiercely. She goes on to nominate- ah no, no! She has just nominated me!

Saruman turns slowly in his seat, and gives me the blackest look I have ever seen- it is a look of warning- and I stand up, knowing I must say something:

“My dear friends! I am honored that the Lady Galadriel has such confidence in my abilities- but- I must respectfully decline- and again I ask you to strongly consider my great mentor, who is far better qualified than I!”

A pretty speech, and I hope it will do the trick. Saruman nods at me slightly, approvingly, the anger leaving his face.

He gets the Office, and it is well.

The Council now truly convenes, and the first order of business is, as I am not too surprised, this business with Dol Guldur- and the mysterious “Necromancer”.

Galadriel and Celeborn present several evidences that this is indeed Sauron himself; others come and go, some assenting, and others dissenting.

Now Saruman takes the Circle, and regards the assembled Council gravely- finally, he sighs deeply, as if in great regret, and speaks:

“My comrades and allies! I have heard you all, and it is my very measured opinion that we must not be too hasty in moving against Dol Guldur! If it is indeed Sauron, then the time for action will come soon enough. However, if it is not him, but another, we risk war with an unknown opponent- who, I might add, has done nothing against us directly at this point!”

There is a hush that falls over the assembly, and I realize, as I look into their faces, that they are spellbound, and that Saruman is, in ever so insidiously a fashion, casting some sort of charm over them with his voice; and he speaks again, the booming power of his deep voice rolling among the Council like a living thing, caressing and enchanting, entreating and seducing.

He convinces them, and we take no action that day against the Necromancer.

The meeting over, I walk among the Council members, talking briefly and listening as well, trying to gauge if anyone knows anything of Dol Guldur- and then something happens which causes me great alarm:

Saruman, who had left the Meeting after his speech, and retired to the upper rooms, now returns, and he is walking towards Galadriel, with a very set and irritated expression. I do not know why this should alarm me, but it does, and I head in that direction myself.

Galadriel watches his approach, with some consternation herself, as well, it appears. Something wrong here, but what?

Saruman smiles at her thinly, and I can hear him speak with gritted teeth:

“Ah, the exalted Lady! It was very good of you to recommend my Gandalf, here, for the Head of the Council! What a charming notion, and so very- so very kind!” He looks into her eyes and continues :

“But as you can see, he is not interested in that position. Too bad, alas, now you must deal with me as the Head of the White Council. I shall endeavor to not disappoint you- in - anything you are expecting of me!”-

Galadriel returns his intense gaze with equal fortitude, and there is only gentleness in her voice as she replies:

“Nay, Curunír, I, as ever, expect and have confidence in only your best intentions.”

She edges closer to him, and his expression changes, to a faint look of – what- I cannot tell, and I keep my silence. She speaks again:

“But is there something more, perhaps, dear Curunír - something you would like to confide? For I will never betray your trust!”

Saruman laughs then, harshly, and ill-disguised sarcasm drips from his next words:

“Yes, indeed! All in confidence, and in the Spirit of Trust, yes, my Lady?” He leers at her from behind his thick beard, and leans in very close to her face, and says softly:

“Perhaps, yes, I can think of something I have knowledge of, that you might be interested in, at that- if I may have but an hour of your time, in my private chamber in the Tower here, perhaps I can – enlighten you- on things you have never experienced or heard of. Yes, I can show a very great secret, my Lady, a very large secret! I am confident you will enjoy every moment of what I can reveal to you. What do you say to that, my beautiful star, my Elen?”

His meaning is bluntly obvious, and even stoic Galadriel looks shocked.

She looks at Saruman with a mixture of horror and sadness, and then turns and walks away.

Saruman turns to me, smirking, and whispers in a serpent’s voice: “I would have shown it to her too, she who is so eager for a secret, and hidden things. Oh yes, I would have given her something to think on, something to relate to her Lord, and see perhaps he does not quite measure up anymore!” He laughs again, cruelty in the sound, and retires again to his chamber. I stand there for a long time, stunned into paralysis by his maliciousness.

Night has fallen, and it is only he and I in the Tower now. Saruman prefers it that way: “Fewer witnesses!” he says, laughing in one of his rare bursts of levity.

I am still gravely troubled by his strange words to Lady Galadriel, but I say nothing of it, and I retire to my bedchamber. Oh, to be sure, I understood what he was getting at, it was crystal clear.

When I was very new here, I knew nothing of such sexual matters, and needs. I learned quickly what Saruman was referring to when he would make coarse, yet oddly refined, comments about such things. Though I myself had never had any of these experiences, I always listened in great interest as Saruman related his; usually in great and painstaking detail.

Then he would watch my face to see my reaction. I usually would sit back and simply be silent, and he would invariably frown, as if my reaction was found wanting.

As he told it, this activity could be had with a male or female, and it was best “If it was mutual and consensual, but that was not a prerequisite.”

That perplexed me- I do not like anything to be done to another that is forced, and this did not sound right to me. But I, in my swollen respect of him, did not question, although I knew I would never do such a thing as force someone.

And now, this night, as my mind spins with his strange, aggressive behavior to Galadriel, I slowly undress and slip under the cover. I have nearly found sleep, when I hear my door open, and a faint light shines in from a candle.

 

Saruman.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and Saruman in the Early Days.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:

VERY STRONG SLASH IS CONTAINED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

 

 

I wonder what he could be thinking, stealing into my room in this way, as it is very late, and I presumed he was as weary as I am. Perhaps, I have presumed wrongly. The light of the candle drifts towards me silently, and I can feel my heart beginning to pound very fast-

I have a great sense of anticipation, somehow, and I think I may know what my nocturnal visitor is seeking.

But does he not realize, I know nothing of such things? Has he failed to understand this? I can offer him no pleasure, or arousal in this fashion. I understood, albeit it in distress, when he made his “proposal” to Galadriel- at least it was sensible!

The candle is extinguished, and I hear the soft sound of disrobing, and garments falling on the floor. Still soundlessly, I feel him slip into the bed next to me. My heart is fairly well thundering now, and I am torn by conflicting feelings; then, finally, he speaks:

“Gandalf, are you asleep?”

“Not yet, my Aratar.”

“Then pray, turn towards me for a moment or two- I would have the delight of your company, if you will allow it.”

He speaks so elegantly, and so powerfully measured, I am sure he could seduce the very stones of Orthanc to play some sweet music for him, if he so desired.

I turn towards him, and with great subtlety, he moves closer to me, and I can feel his warmth, so near, so very near. I am becoming quite excited, myself, in some unfathomable way.

Ah, I believe I understand it, alright, but it is still a very new thing, to actually experience it! I feel his heated breath now, and his breathing is very different than normal, very labored, very fast.

“Olórin.”

He touches me suddenly, long fingers on my arm, and I catch my breath sharply.

He moves closer to me, again, and is very nearly against me, as we lie facing side to side. I am vividly aware of his totally disrobed form, and my blood is heating violently.

He reaches for me more aggressively now, and pulls me to him- and grasping my face, kisses me deep, with his tongue seeking mine, and our mingled breath joining together. As our mouths explore one another, he places one hand behind my head, and the other around my back, and presses tightly against me, body to body.

After a moment more, he seeks and finds my hand, which I have had around his neck, and guides me downward, saying:

“Here, let me show you, there, right there, do you understand?” and I do understand ,and I place my fingers around his- what did he call it, in his many graphic tales of conquest?- his cock, that’s right- and I grasp it, and it swells ever larger in my grip, and I can feel it throbbing and pulsating;

“Now: hold tightly, and pull upwards- ”, he whispers to me in a very urgent voice, and I do so, and Saruman fairly purrs approval “ Ahhh- yesss- oh, that’s very good, ahhh -so very nice -you learn very fast!”, and I do as he bids me, “Now down again. That’s right, my silme, oh- ah-you must slow down now- just a bit -”

My own need has come alive, now, as well, and I yearn for his touch upon me, but it does not come yet.

Ah, my sweet Aratar, will you not return my caresses?

I still have ahold of him, and he is gasping, panting almost, and he whispers, in a very strange, strained voice:

“I think you had best stop all together, or this will conclude too early!”

So this is passion, this is lovemaking, I think, as my senses rise and flow, and I relinquish my hold on Saruman, at his request- I do not understand his asking me to cease and desist, but he seems very adamant about it, so I will do so. My heartbeat has taken on the qualities of a raging thunderstorm, and I can scarcely hear for the pounding of it in my ears-

Saruman lies close against me for another long moment, wordlessly, and then he moves on top of me, and I am exhilarated with anticipation, and he lies above me, urging me onto my back; I do not resist but move as he bids me, and we lie together, face to face, for several more painfully long moments.

Finally, I can bear it no more, and I whisper in his ear “My lord, my Aratar, I need – I need more!” Exactly what I need, I do not know. But the urgency I feel is overwhelming.

I am acutely aware of the feel of his beard on my face, and the scent of his breath, so hot, and smelling strongly of dark wine.

“Ah, my Gandalf, fear not, the time is nearly at hand! Wrap yourself around me, my melda, my beloved! Arms and legs both, let us merge into one another!” he murmurs to me, and then whispers to me strange words I have never heard before, not Quenya, or Sindarin, or any of the tongues of Men, but something much stranger, and the words are blackly exciting, though I understand them not.

I am now, as he asked of me, utterly wrapped around him, and he moves me up even higher at the hips, and places one of the pillows under me there.

“Yes, now- yes, it is time, indeed.” He says dreamily, breathlessly, and covers me with his radiant presence, and I feel a growing and urgent pressure, just beginning, and then it becomes a sharp piercing, and I instinctively flinch, and try to move away, but he holds me very firmly, and I suddenly feel trapped.

”No, no, my silme -” he purrs in that silky voice-

“Trust me, you have only to trust me- you must relax- “ and then suddenly he is thrust all the way inside, entirely, and I feel as if I am filled to the core of my being.

I gasp loudly, in shock at the pain and pleasure of it, and he moves inside me, and I am pinned under him, and he has suddenly taken on a very different aspect, much more aggressive,and I unhappily recall his ever more violent changes of mood and attitude. “Valina nu i beleg makil!” ( rejoice under the mighty sword! ) he snarls at me fiercely, and the bed is shaking precariously with our passionate movement,  
and I can hear it creaking woefully.

“Lisse, lisse lind - ” (sweet, sweet song ), he mutters quietly, and I cannot even make a sound in reply. I am far beyond speech at this point, and the pain has finally ceased, there is only ecstasy now, and my mind is bereft of reason, and all clarity. I only can perceive his moving inside me, his magickal voice, and our sweating, straining bodies locked together in love.

“Ai! Rato sii rato!” ( Alas! Soon, now, soon!) he groans in a throaty voice, and slows his movements suddenly, saying “Laa – kara ta ando -” ( No- make it for a long time )-

I finally find my voice, myself:

“Ullume, ullume!” ( Forever, forever! ), and he drowns me in an impossibly wet kiss.

I do wish it would last forever, I could ask nothing more of the Valar, than to allow us to remain joined like this, for all time.

Of course, as I would find many long ages after, that was not to be.

And so we lie still again, for what seems like an eternity in itself, and I can feel him inside me throbbing and hot, and then he moves again, more slowly, but harder, and deeper; I grasp his long hair as it falls into my face, and stroke its silky dark strands. I feel his strong hands under my hips, pulling me up higher against him, and then he pushes harder again, and the bed groans in disapproval.

I am clinging to him, somehow desperate to keep him close to me like this, as if I feel, in some vague and mysterious way, that he may slip away, and be lost to me. He mutters something in my ear, what, I cannot understand, and his breathing has become quite rapid; suddenly I can hear him whispering to me, as if in a dream -

“Now, yes, ah, now- now, Olorín!” –

and his entire body shivers violently, and I am flooded inside with some great warmth, and the effect of it is overwhelming, causing me to give in at last to the very height of pleasure.

It is, I find, the most soul shattering experience:

this pinnacle of feeling, and it roars through me, body and spirit, and I hear myself gasping, as if from very far away.

I am aware, in a very dream-like way, of my lover laying atop me, slowly moving even now, but all the great urgency is gone. And then, wordlessly, he moves off of me, slipping out of me easily; I feel the loss of his weight upon me, and I already begin to long for it again.

He does not speak for several moments, and then finally says softly:

“Sleep now, silme, sleep in the welcoming arms of love!”

And yet, even as he murmurs to me so tenderly, he does not embrace me again, but if anything, moves away a bit farther, and closes his eyes, saying no more. I lie there in utter amazement, and wonder, and confusion, all at once. I know – in some unfathomable way- that this is the beginning of a strange game between us:

one long, endless power play - and all enshrouded in this mysterious love, which embraces and then just as quickly pushes you away, and denies utterly.

I turn carefully to look at him, to see him in the moonlight coming in through the window, and his eyes open again, and he looks at me, eyes blacker than any midnight; those eyes! They pierce and overwhelm, and yet there is love in them, but it is a love that is undercut with fierce arrogance, and some nameless, alien savagery that lives in him now.

I yearn to move close to him, and wrap my arms and my whole being around him, and yet I can hear a warning from him in my mind:

It is enough, Olórin, no more.

Ask no more of me this night. Sleep.

My exhausted and rejoicing body overtakes my troubled and lonely heart, and sleep does indeed find me.  
  
Morning comes, at last, and as I gradually awaken, I am aware that Saruman is not in the bed with me anymore; I already had felt he would not be, somehow.

Most likely, he is down in the chaotic study, pouring over endless books and scrolls. He is searching for something, his quest is obvious, although he never speaks of it. I can see him being driven in some nameless and formless fashion, looking ever more exhausted and drained, yet unable to get control again.

In the back of my mind, I know that it has something to do with the mystery of Dol Guldur, and the equally mysterious Necromancer.

Is he seeking the Ruling Ring? And if so, to what end?

I drowsily ponder my own thoughts and feelings, as the morning sun grows more brilliant, streaming in through the beautiful ironwork window of the Tower.

I am, I understand utterly now, falling – or have already fallen- in love with him.

My mentor, my friend, my patron in this Middle Earth- and yet I feel something is terribly wrong. Not with my feelings, or his feelings for me, but something else.

He does not speak to me of it, ever, and I cannot bring myself to ask him. Long years later, I will live to deeply regret this. If what was to come later had been, perhaps, headed off, then I would not have shared in the blame for all that was to happen, to myself, to Middle Earth, to friends I have not even imagined yet, and worst of all, to Curumo himself. He would ultimately suffer the worst of it; I would look back in heartbreak one day, and wish I had been brave enough to make him speak the truth to me.

Perhaps I could have reached him, and saved him, and all others that I will come to love as well.

But of course, nothing has come to pass this day, and I am merely having very bad daydreams. I force aside the evil, pervading images and ideas that have suddenly come into my mind, filled with nightmares, and the visions of Saruman in some horrific situation, immersed totally in madness, and at the brink of death. Unreachable, insane, and beyond all effort to save him.

Why am I getting this? I wonder, feeling very sad and ill, all at once.

I realize with some alarm that I am on the verge of tears. I try again to maintain- or regain- my composure. I rise slowly, and I am trembling slightly: I am badly shook up, from my intruding visions. And the visions were not silent- they were accompanied by blood chilling screams and angry warlike shouts, sounds of war and dying.

Sounds of a madman.

I hastily put on my robe and cloak, and make my way down to the main rooms, on ominously weak legs. It will not do for Saruman to see me like this, he will know something is wrong.

I feel an odd sense of shame, and sadness, almost as if I have let him down in some way. But nothing is wrong, not today, not in the present. I take a deep breath and knock lightly upon the huge door of his study.

“Enter, Olórin.” I hear his voice say softly, and I do so, and I see him sitting, as I knew he would be, amidst a gigantic collection of materials he is reading.

I see he has simply thrown many of them on the floor, as he goes on to the next. He is wearing a blindingly white robe, and it is open; as we are the only ones here, he has not bothered to secure it.

As I move towards him, I can see his strongly muscled chest and belly inside the glimmering robe. I feel a powerful memory of the previous night’s passion, and I have to struggle for composure, again.

“Ahhh- lisse silme -” he purrs in my ear, as he rises and embraces me gracefully -

“Did you sleep well, my melda? In the throes of satisfaction, I hope?”

I hold him tightly, again feeling that nameless dread of losing him, and the even greater terror of him suffering in some way, and I whisper back, “ I slept like the tides at sunrise, my Aratar.”

He nuzzles me gently in my hair, with gentle kisses, and this will be the closest he will ever come to displaying affection, throughout all the many countless years to come.

I will look back on this moment many, many times, and yearn with all my soul to feel his embrace, and these rare, precious kisses again.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and Saruman in the Early Days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is set centuries later:

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is set centuries later:

( the time is one year before Frodo Baggins sets off with the Ruling Ring. Gandalf has wandered far and wide, but maintains a stormy and intense discreet relationship with Saruman )

 

 

 

I look over at my troubled, enigmatic lover, as he sleeps a strange, unpeaceful sleep; my time of living at Orthanc with him has long since come to an end:

I could no longer bear his violent, dangerous rages, and worse still, the knowledge of what was happening at Isengard, under my very nose. I cannot betray him, I will not betray him, but for me to live here, and allow it, was unthinkable. We have had many confrontations, far too many, and his temper is too unstable; I do not wish to ever harm him, and nor do I wish to allow him to harm me.

And we had been approaching that latter point very swiftly, or so I feared.

The very last day of my living here with him had come to a nerve-shattering end five years ago, when I had come back from a journey to the Shire ( he loathed the Hobbits, and grew increasingly angry when I would visit them )- I had walked upstairs, travel-weary and bone tired, and seeking the comfort of his bed, and received the shock of my existence, when I opened the heavy door of his quarters, and beheld an appalling sight:

There, bound and beaten, was a young wood elf, his frightened face streaked with sweat and tears, and standing over him was Saruman, clutching his Staff with a talon-like, desperate grip; the look on his angry face was pure, undiluted madness. He turned, hearing me come in, and as if we were about to sit down to a carafe of wine, said conversationally:

“Ah, Stormcrow- good to see you. It has been far too long!”

I had merely gaped at him, speechless; finally I found my tongue and said:

“Saruman- what are you doing-??”

He smiled at me then, a curious expression of great warmth, and waved aside my question, replying :

“Ah, it is nothing. Do not concern yourself with it. Go to my chamber and await me!”

– and then he turned to the elf again and struck him with great force across the face; the elf moaned softly but did not cry out. He looked up at me then, silently asking for my help, and I could not simply stand by and watch this.

“Saruman- Aratar – I do not mean any disrespect, but you must not do this, what has he done to deserve - ”

I could not finish my words, because a great bolt of energy from the Staff silenced me, striking near me with a frightful jolt. Saruman was frowning at me with great rage, and as he moved towards me, I backed away from him, alarmed. The Staff still crackled with dangerous life in his hand, and I found my back against the wall- cornered, I tried to think what to do next, how to calm him.

He moved in on me, and I saw the fevered storm of madness in his dark eyes. He leaned in towards me, and with one hand stroked my hair-

“Gandalf – lisse Gandalf! - I fear I must remind you- do not oppose or question me, ever. Not under any circumstances. Do you understand me, elen?”

\- his voice was soft and loving, but in the depths of those black eyes was a warning, and great threat. I nodded slowly, and he glared at me for some time, staring deep within my soul. Finally, he backed away, and allowed me to leave the corner.

As I watched the nightmare unfold before me, he turned again to the elf, and wordlessly, and without any warning whatsoever, struck the elf with the side of the Staff with great force, and the elf crumpled limply in a heap. Saruman looked over at me, and smiled again, and I saw nothing but insanity.

I fled his terrifying, murderous presence, and did not return for six months.

Saruman spared no effort and no expense in searching for me, and I often saw his crows flying overhead, looking for me. And as much as my heart ached for him, I could not bear to return to him yet.

I finally did return, after I could bear it no longer to be without him. We never spoke of the killing of the elf again, but I knew the evil was upon us both now.

“Why must you go among those filthy halflings? You reek of their stench!”

Saruman thus awakens me one morning, and I open my eyes to find him staring at me angrily; I fight to gain full lucidity, in order to deal with this new problem.

We have just spent a harried, and unpleasant evening in the Council, and at the conclusion Saruman had become livid and stormed off. There had been a general consensus that the threat of Sauron must be now be met and dealt with immediately, and this had not set well with him.

Of course, by now I was fully well aware he was seeking the Ruling Ring- though he never admitted it, and never spoke of it. But in his blind lust for it he grew very careless; he often collapsed in exhausted sleep over his manuscripts, and one night, motivated by my deep fear for him, I carefully moved his hand draped over the page he was reading, and hastily looked at it. It was a treatise on the Rings and their history, and how they had corrupted the kings who had accepted them, but before I could read anymore he began to stir, and I quickly replaced the book.

I had eventually been able to look at a great many of the books he was studying, and the ones that did not speak of the Rings, dealt with Melkor and Sauron, and the long ago battles for Middle Earth. And then there were the books of Forbidden Magick, of the blackest varieties.

All my fears were true, and I was at a loss as to what to do next. I had decided to simply try to buy as much time as possible.

And so, this dark and rain filled morning, Saruman the White glowered down at me, and muttered curses against the halflings, and Galadriel, and anyone else he could think of.

So changed you are, proud and exalted one! I thought to myself sadly, recalling the great Istar who had taught me all his art, and so many wonderful things, all steeped in the Light, with no evil in his soul.

But of course, these days, at least it is no mystery what is ailing him: I know very well what is wrong, but I do not know how to cure it. And I do not speak of it to anyone else, and I will not, unless I am given no choice.

I will not betray him to the Council, or to the Valar, although it is ridiculous to believe they do not know. My fear is that he will insist on betraying himself, and everyone else as well.

What would they do to him, the Valar?

I fear for him terribly, and yet I do not believe the Valar would do him any injustice or cruelty. But he is already risking censure of some grave sort, as he is pursuing some very negative paths at this point. Banishment, perhaps, or -? I do not know. I trust in the great goodness of the ones who sent us here, and in their mercy and wisdom.

Saruman gives up on me, and with a derisive snort turns away; I decide to make an attempt to soothe the ruffled feathers, and I move up close to him, and touch his hair gently, trailing my fingers down the long white strands. All the black is gone, or nearly so: there are traces of it, here and there, at the temples, and in the long beard, but for the most part the long centuries have turned his hair a pure white, with a shimmering of silver.

He closes his eyes as I stroke his hair, and his nostrils flare ever so slightly, which I have come to understand is a sign of agitation- there is something of an ancient dragon about him, all white fire and flames, and deadly intent. I lean in close, and kiss him on the lips softly; he opens his dark, piercing eyes and looks up at me, saying nothing.

He has taught me so much, over the long years, and much of it has been sexual in nature. He has taught me how to bring both of us to climax after climax, nearly to the point of unconsciousness, and shown me the way to make an orgasm last for minutes instead of seconds. There is not one part of him I do not know intimately, or any part of me, that he has not explored in totality.

He is so wise in these things, and yet so unwise in other things.

Other, more dangerous things.

I know him so well, so very well; I know the soft sound of his breath catching, the moment before the explosion comes for him, when we are in bed; I know the exact way he will dig his long nails into me at that moment, and the scent of him, musky and rich, potent and immensely masculine, and how it will fill my senses as we move together. I know, with vivid accuracy, the thunderous sound of his heartbeat after we make love, as I lie my head upon his broad chest.

And yet, I will find, I am in love with a stranger.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and Saruman in the Early Days.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

( Having found the One Ring in Frodo’s possession, Gandalf has just left to seek Saruman’s advice )

STRONG SLASH AHEAD...

 

I have ridden for a good distance, without stopping, having just found the Ruling Ring in the possession of a small halfling named Frodo Baggins, of the Shire.

It is a blessing, and a curse, all at once. And so I now ride with all haste to Isengard, to seek the advice of Saruman the White, and I force away my great sense of foreboding in doing so.

I convince myself that he will only be concerned with our obtaining and restraining the Ring- and nothing else. I must believe this. As the head of our Order, I must obtain his counsel, his wisdom. And I must not allow myself to dread his reaction to my news of finding the Ring.

Yes, I know he desires it, as a man desires a long-awaited lover. But I must believe- I do believe- he will come to his senses when he is given the awesome responsibility of giving guidance on what we must now do. Certainly, he will come out of his strange haze of lust for it, and see the Light again.

Yes, I believe that. I have to believe it.

I arrive at Isengard, and ride under the great gateway; the whole circular courtyard is blooming with life, huge trees, vivid flowers. I see some sort of activity, something is being worked on across the way. I do not have time to examine it, I have no time at all, it seems. I hear coarse voices and loud cursing, and sounds of clanging. There is smoke rising from what appears to be a pit of some kind. And look: there is another, and another. But I simply must put aside my wonder, and I tie my grey steed to the front of Orthanc.

Orthanc itself, feels different- I have been away for many days, and I have ceased informing Saruman whenever I am going to the Shire, as his hatred for the hobbits has grown into a kind of sickness. The very last time I mentioned a halfling- I made a slight remark about Bilbo- and Saruman’s face took on a very dark scowl, though he said nothing. But the look was one of pure hatred.

The Tower seems cold and icy, somehow, in a way it never has before. I shiver, involuntarily, and make my way slowly up the long staircase. I wearily wonder if I should use a little magic to ease my climb, and then decide against it. As I near the top quarters, I can hear very strange sounds, and what sounds alarmingly like a strangled sobbing. I cannot tell from whence it comes, it seems to surround me.

Has Saruman taken yet more hapless prisoners? I wonder uneasily.

My concern takes a strange twist, when I realize the muffled voice sounds eerily like Saruman himself, but not in any normal sense, not in any way I have ever heard him before. I feel a sudden wave of great fear, and I rush to his room and knock lightly- I am almost in a panic- there is no answer, and my intense concern motivates me to gently and carefully open the door.

The room is nearly dark, even though the sun is shining outside.

Again, I hear the soft, sorrowful sound.

As my eyes adjust to the semi-darkness, I can see Saruman sitting at a table, all his attention apparently focused on something on the table. He moves his hand over it, and I can see swirling colorful rainbows of mist in the object. He is muttering, in an unknown tongue, and breathing heavily, swaying slightly back and forth. And then his words degenerate into the strange near-sobbing that I had heard earlier.

“No, no, I cannot!!” I hear him whisper, oblivious to my presence, “The consequences will be terrible-!! ” - and then a second voice, rich and booming, undercut with malice:

“If you do not do it, the consequences will be beyond your imagination!”

Saruman again, sounding very strained and unlike himself:

“Yes, yes, I know where he has been- yes- I know- no, no, I will not do that to him -”

\- and then suddenly a crimson flare shoots out from the mystery object and lights up the room.

Saruman sat back with a gasp, as the malevolent red light envelopes him for an instant. And then he collapses forward, his face hitting the table full on. I run to him, horrified and shocked – gently I raise him up from the table, and he looks at me in confusion. Then, as if he suddenly remembered something, he grasps at a black cloth on the table and covers up a large orb- so that was the mystery object!- oddly familiar.

Something in the back of my mind screams at me, with a frantic voice of warning.

A PALANTIR!

No doubt about it- a far sighted seeing stone, of great notoriety and renown. I stare at the covered orb silently, my thoughts racing. But I say nothing- I must tend to my mentor, who is looking very ill and pale. No words pass between us as I help him to his feet, and he walks unsteadily to the huge bed; I sit down beside him, and tentatively, I put my arms around him. I still say nothing, nor does he- perhaps we both realize there is nothing to be said at this moment.

We lie back together on the huge soft pillows- even in the half-light, I notice he has added many refinements- he drowns me in a long, sweet kiss, and nearly suffocates me with a powerful embrace.

“My grey wanderer- my Gandalf.”, he murmurs in my hair, “I want you to swear something to me, my love.”

“Yes, of course, of course I will.” I whisper back, kissing his throat under the long beard-

“Swear to me- you will never- forsake me. No matter what.” he says softly, with what nearly sounds like fear in his voice.

“Need you even ask?”, I reply, “Of course I swear it.”

He grips me fiercely, desperately, saying:

“No matter what- no matter what happens, no matter what I may ever do, or say. Swear you will never forsake me, or – cease to love me.”

I hold him close, and I can feel his great stress and fear, and I say again, choking back my rising apprehension:

“I will never forsake you, Aratar, and I will always love you. No matter what. I swear it and you must believe it.”

He relaxes against me then, with a deep sigh.

I say no more, as I have spoken the truth to him. But what have I bought with my oath?

The midnight moon gleams through our open window, and a cool sweet breeze drifts in; I am drifting, myself, drifting half- asleep- Curumo lies beside me, and I wonder if he is awake.

I feel a stirring in my heart and soul, that familiar need and desire; I turn towards him, and I am met by his dark eyes in the moonlight. I reach out to him, and lightly touch his hair, as it frames his face- how I love to touch it, his tangled mane of silver snow!

I begin my slow journey downward, as he lies back, allowing it; I kiss his chest, and then his stomach, so powerfully muscular and tightly etched. His hand is upon my head, alternately stroking my hair and pushing me gently down farther, farther. I have a warm, exciting memory of the first time I did this:

I had been new to Middle Earth, so young!

After Curumo had shown me the delight of passion under him, I had felt the desire for different ways to accomplish this – this lovemaking. He, of course, knew a thousand ways of love and lust, but he let me believe I was discovering on my own.

And so, one spring day in the beautiful garden of Isengard, we walked in our solitude- this was before the days of his servant Grima- and I had listened to his many instructions and remarks, and we had finally stopped under the shade of a great ancient Oak.

Without really knowing what I was about to do, I had dropped slowly to my knees before him, in abject love and unspeakable devotion; he watched me with his usual impassive expression, only a slight movement of his jaw betraying his feelings. I unbuckled his sash and opened his overtunic, and then the inner white robe. He backed up against the Oak tree, and leaned against it, as I took hold of him with great desire and yearning. I had been powerfully drawn to take him in my mouth, and I realized later he must have willed me to do it: I knew nothing of such things as that, myself.

My much-loved mentor had placed one hand on my head, and pushed into my mouth passionately, as he gripped the ever present metal staff in the other. I had done it the best I could, and he seemed pleased, groaning softly and thrusting against my tongue hotly.

I had been amazed at the warm, gushing flood that had suddenly filled my mouth, but I knew it was from him, and so I devoured it gladly. The salty-sweet eruption had burned my throat slightly, but I took it all down. And he had been very pleased with me.

I tremble slightly, now, as I recall this cherished memory of so long ago.

How innocent I had been, so unaware. A hundred lifetimes ago, it seems now.

He had watched his black hair change over the centuries, first partially, and then in totality, and he had told me once how angry he was at losing his youth. I had told him it did not matter- we were born old anyway, and he had favored me with a rare laugh.

I shake off the old memories, so I may concentrate on the present: my searching hands and mouth have found their quarry, and I anxiously wrap my lips around the tip, and my fingers around the enormous shaft; I feel it stiffen even further with my ministrations, and the veins pulse with ancient, virile life under my tongue and fingertips. I take him in deeper, and he whispers in an urgent voice:

“Ah- my Stormcrow, ah, that’s very good, yes, my love, my greyhame, ahhh- ”

I trace my fingers over his tensed belly, and caress the sinewy muscles with great love.

Saruman pushes my head down on him, grasping my hair painfully, trying to make me take him in all the way, but I cannot.

I have only perhaps half in my mouth, and I cannot take any more. He is simply too huge, too massively endowed.

“Gandalf- swallow me all in- ah- you must- you must- ahhh- !” he tells me, between gasps, and instead,I take my mouth off him nearly all the way, and then come back down, raking my teeth along the sides with the greatest of delicacy. He thrusts up into my mouth deeply, and I feel him spasm slightly, with a very soft deep groan.

I am drenched with the hot burst of my lover’s orgasm, and I swallow it all, as the sacred ambrosia of love.

Oh, by the Valar, I think to myself, as I find sleep near dawn, may this love never be poisoned.


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and Saruman in the Early Days.

A new day dawns, and with it, comes the pressing and inescapable need to address the situation that brought me back here in such a dire need:

“Saruman- I must tell you something: there is news of the Ring, and of Sauron!” I inform him, as we walk in the garden; he says nothing, and I take this to mean he is simply thinking about what I have just told him, so I continue:

“The Ring is in the possession of someone I know.”

He stops then, and looks at me with great interest-

“Oh? And who is that? Where are they?” he says softly. There is a look in his eyes that makes me feel as if I am being searched to the very core of my soul.

I hesitate- and then I tell him the truth- and immediately recognize my mistake.

The light in his eyes as I tell him of Frodo, and the Ring, is a dark light, born in some nameless abyss, a vivid living void.

And then he smiles at me, with great kindness and affection, and embraces me suddenly. I in turn place my arms around his broad shoulders, and then he abruptly breaks our closeness, and pulls away from me.

“I must go now.” he says quietly, and turns towards the Tower; “Come with me back inside, and wait for me in my study. It will not take long.”

“What will not take long?” I question him, and he turns and gives me a chilling look.  
  
“I have something I must do. It will not take long.” He repeats again, and walks towards the Tower, walking in long, fast strides.

I struggle to keep up with him, and my feeling of dread is overwhelming now. His long magnificent robes wrap around him as we enter the doorway, and he speaks again, in a very strained voice, “Do not follow me – go to my study. I will be back very soon, my love.”

“Saruman- wait a moment.”

I put my hand on his arm firmly, and he looks at me in mild wonder.

“Yes, Gandalf?” he says, and I try to find the words. I have never openly defied him before, and have always shown only abject and total obedience. He has not been an easy mentor, but except for coming to grips with his unusual moods and comments, I have never found it difficult to obey him, or trust him, as far as my own safety was concerned.

Until now.

“What are you going to do, my Aratar?” I ask him, the words choking in my throat, “Can you not let me know? For it seems you keep so much – hidden – from me, these days.”

My heart is pounding painfully, thudding against my ribs; in the two thousand years of our time here, I have never questioned him like this. He looks at me carefully, with a mixture of rising anger, stress, and amusement.

“Gandalf – I find it rather charming that you are so courageous in your curiosity today- but I cannot indulge you, I am afraid. You could not have chosen a worse subject, or a more inappropriate time!”

“Wait”, I press further, my hand still on him firmly, “You must talk to me, Curumo. We have avoided this too long. I – I am becoming afraid for you. I know something is - not right.”

I try to speak in what I hope is the most respectful and gentle manner.

Without even realizing it, I have blocked his path, almost by instinct. And I cannot bring myself to let him pass, I am genuinely fearful for him, and it seems as if I must keep him from whatever he is about to do, at all cost. He glares at me in what is rapidly becoming fury, and I wonder, myself, at what I am doing.

It is unthinkable, my insubordinance!

Saruman’s eyes flash dangerous lightning, and he pushes me aside roughly, silently, and strides past purposefully. Then at the staircase he turns to me again:

“Do you want to see? Do you want to know, my lover? Are you so determined? Then follow me!”

I follow him upstairs, with a sick fear filling my heart. I cannot even feel the steps under my feet, for the terror in my soul. We reach the chamber, and he stands back and motions me inside, and then shuts the heavy door with a thud behind us.

I have never mistrusted him before- I have not always understood him, or his ways, but nothing like this. But as I stand here in his room, I am gripped with foreboding. There is a palpable air of actual danger.

“So you would know everything, would you, my love? Cannot quiet that inquisitive mind of yours, eh?” he says in a distinctly unfriendly voice-

“Very well! All shall be revealed, and nothing held back! After today, you shall have no more questions on this matter, and your heart shall be at ease!”

My heart is far from at ease at this point, and the tone of voice he is using is not helping. I understand he is angry that I am defying him, but this reaction is only increasing the strain.

“Come here!” he commands, as if I am a house-servant,and I obey him, and he gestures to the table, with the Palantir. “Look into the Orb!” he says in a rough tone, “Look deeply, and there will be no more questions in your mind!” I move close to the Orb, and he comes up behind me, and grasps me around the waist, pressing into me sensually.

“There- see- just relax- and look within the globe.” His voice is becoming The Voice now, coaxing and sweet-sounding, infinitely smooth and deeply intoxicating. His whole demeanor has changed, and he is using the magic on me, perhaps actually against me?

“I wanted to tell you, Stormcrow”, he purrs in my ear, licking it, as the Palantir shimmers to colorful life in front of me; “I wanted to share this with you, but I could not- but I will now - as I see you are ready- ” - he pushes against me harder, and I can feel the hardness of him, and I stare into the Palantir, and from out of its depths comes a roaring voice, and an agony in my being upon hearing the sound of it. I hear myself gasp, and I try to step back, but Curumo does not let me move away, and whispers to me :

“No, do not give in to weakness. You must remain, and allow it to happen!”

The vision in the orb rises up, and there is something there, I cannot make it out clearly, but I feel pain at the perception of it, somehow. The voice in the Palantir roars at me, with a sound that is haunting and familiar, and yet excruciating to hear. It rapidly becomes unbearable, and I make a tremendous effort to escape the pain, wrenching away from Saruman’s now iron grip on me.

“No!” he snarls, and reaches for me, but I am too quick for him and back away to the door- if I can only open it in time! – I manage it and make my way down the staircase as if I am in flight. At the bottom of the steps, I turn and face Saruman, who has followed me and is nearly upon me.

“Saruman! Cease! What is the matter with you?”

I try to sound stern, and in control- I must not give in to the horror of the moment.  
  
But Curumo is far from being in control- he looks at me with a wild rage, and I do not even recognize him at this moment. He looks utterly mad, beyond all reason. He raises his Staff at me, and the power of it knocks me against the wall, and he advances on me, still with that strange, cold expression. I hit the wall hard, and sink down slowly, hurt both in body and heart.

He used the Staff- against me, to harm me! My shock and grief are devastating, but there is no time for that now.

He is almost upon me, and I raise my own Staff in pure self-defense, and aim a non-lethal repelling blast at him. He staggers backwards slightly, but then raises his own Staff again and hurls a deadly – and very lethal- bolt of energy at me. I feel the impact as it hits me, and then I am being lifted up, and spun around violently. Dizzy and ill, I can barely hear his voice, raging at me :

“I gave you a chance, Gandalf! For love of you, a chance of aiding me willingly! I had hoped you would be wise enough to take it! But you have elected the way of pain!”

I am hurtled towards the ceiling, and I know no more.

Then –I awaken.

Slowly.

How long I have sat up here in the rain and cold, I do not know. I have had many long hours to contemplate the horror that has happened, the chaos that my world has become. No one will ever know, I will never share it with anyone, the agony of the betrayal, and the shattering of all I held close to my heart.

My tears have mingled with those of the sky, which seems to be weeping with me. I am a prisoner on the pinnacle of Orthanc Tower, a victim of the one I had loved and trusted the most.

I fall asleep again, there is nothing to remain awake for.

And then I am awakened by approaching footfalls near me, and I open my eyes to see that it is morning again- how things have changed in a day and a night! Silhouetted against the blue of the sky, I see Curumo standing over me. He looks down at me with an expression that I cannot read.

“Gandalf- stand up.”

I do so, and we regard each other warily. He has taken my Staff, I am defenseless. Or is that entirely true? Slowly, my hand goes to my hip, and I feel it still there: Glamdring- the Elven Blade. But my surprise and elation at finding it are meaningless- I could never use it against him.

I would never be able to bring myself to sink a killing blade into the body of the one I have loved for so many years.

Saruman notices Glamdring finally now, as well, and he moves back quickly, as if bitten; he frowns darkly, and mutters, “ Ah, what of it, Gandalf, do you wish to kill me?”

I look back at him in deep sorrow, and I answer him truthfully:

“How can you even ask such a thing of me as that. I would never harm you.”

He does not look convinced, and puts even more distance between us. He has never been a sword fighter, and if we were matched in a battle, the outcome would be a foregone conclusion, and he knows it well.

I try to reach him, to mentally slash with a sword of reason through the tangle of his disjointed mind:

“Saruman - whatever is in the Palantir- can we not sit down and discuss this, rationally? I will not try to flee, and I would certainly never try to harm you or kill you, as you ought to know.”

Saruman looks at me and says nothing, his face impassive again.

“Give me the sword you carry. As a token of your good faith.” he finally says quietly; I carefully consider my reply before speaking :

“I cannot disarm myself in a situation like this, Saruman. Was it not you, yourself, who taught me that? But I have no desire to do you any harm, far from it. Nay, was it I who attacked you? You have a short memory, my old friend!”  
  
He looks angry at this, but it is no less than the absolute truth, and he knows it. I risk another attempt:

“And I do not even know why you attacked me! Can you give me a reason? All these many ages I have trusted you utterly, and now, over a disagreement, you turn your magic and your power against me! How could you do that, Saruman?”

I fight mightily against the emotion strangling my voice as I say the painful words, “Do you no longer- love me?”

He suddenly looks hurt, and shocked, and whispers harshly, “No longer love you! Do not be a fool! Nay, it is because I do love you, that I must bring you to understanding! I must make you realize the true nature of your situation, and mine!”

He leans in closer to me again, and I make a point of keeping my hands to my sides, so as to not give any indication of reaching for the sword.

“Listen to me, my star, my heart’s desire, and hear me. The voice in the Palantir was that of the Dark Lord. There is no denying him, no way to win against him. And I ought to know: I have studied this matter for hundreds upon hundreds of years!”

Saruman looks carefully at me for a reaction, but I have none to give, I am too stunned, too numb. He sighs deeply, and then continues:

“The only hope we have- that anyone has- is to give way for now, and then try to regain some measure of power again, when we can. It is in the best interests of Middle Earth- and ours- to not stand against Sauron right now- he is far more powerful than any of you know. None can resist him!”

He falls silent, and slowly reaches out to touch my face; “I love you, Stormcrow.”, he murmurs in a barely audible voice, as if he is afraid of being overheard, “I do love you, but I must be cruel to be kind. If I fail to do so- we are all dead already.”

I say nothing, and look away over the valley of Nan Curunir, the Wizard’s Vale. He looks at me with sudden sternness, and says in a sharp tone:

“There will be no more disobedience! I am over you, in case you had forgotten that! That does not merely apply to my chamber! Now: you will do as I say, and this is the last we shall speak of this – disagreement.’

Saruman wraps himself around me, embracing me in his powerful grasp, and whispers very quietly :

“Now, enough of this foolishness. Come, let us enjoy this beautiful morning from our bed!”

Ah, how inviting!, I think to myself, but I dare not, my love. I cannot trust you.

“Do you love me still?” he is asking me, “Or has your heart turned to ice now?”

Oh, by the Valar, of course I love you, you fool!, I think darkly, But you are going mad, or betraying Middle Earth. Or most likely, both.

I look him in the eyes, and forcing myself to remain steadfast, I speak slowly and calmly: “You know that I love you well, Curunir,” I say, using his Sindarin name, “And there is nowhere I would rather be, than in your arms. But this- madness- or folly- whatever it is- of relenting to Sauron -I cannot agree to it, at least not on my part. Certainly, you must know you are in error.”

He looks at me with great sorrow, and disappointment, and shakes his silver maned head sadly;

“I cannot allow you to refuse this, Gandalf. I am sorry. You are not at liberty to refuse what I command of you.”

He backs away from me, and then speaks in a louder, different tone: “For the last time, Mithrandir, will you obey me, your superior, and do as I bid you in this matter?”

I dread what is coming, but there is no real point in a lie, as I will no doubt be called upon to prove nonexistent obedience to this insanity;

“I cannot, Curumo. It is against all you have taught me, and all that I know to be true and right. It is against our mission here, our sacred duty!”

And that is when the Staff came down against me, and I again fell into blackness.

How many more days and nights I spent on the top of Orthanc, I am not really sure. I would awaken in the morning to find food brought for me, and wine, but I never saw Saruman, or anyone else, although I heard much commotion far below me in the courtyards of Isengard.

I hurt from head to toe, and I was very badly bruised from the apparent beating Curunir had given me the last time I had seen him.

I was beginning to realize I was fortunate he had not actually beaten me to death, after knocking me unconscious. His fury and rage at me had been beyond anything I had ever seen from him, and the pain in my back and head told me how severely he had beaten me.

In one of my delirious, desperate moments, I had held a large brown moth- it had somehow made me think of Radagast, and I watched it fly away, and as it went it seemed to whisper “Gwahir- Gwahir will come!”.

I watched it drift away, and my head was spinning with weariness.

And now, one night when the moon is huge and full above me, Saruman returns.

He walks up to me silently, and the look in his eyes is that of a stranger. I see nothing in them of the Istar I know- and love.

“Olórin!”

His voice, harsh and commanding, billows over the high places like a macabre echo; “Olórin, get up!” - he has, by now, taken Glamdring from me- not that I would have ever used it on him, but it was better to have some threat of self-defense, however false. No Staff, and no blade.

Saruman towers above me, and I painfully try to get to my feet, only to find that I cannot – my legs are too weak, and perhaps even broken. The pain is horrific.

He looks down at me with a stern expression, and yet there is, perhaps, a hint of some concern on his set face.

“What is wrong with you? What are you doing up here?” he asks me, incredibly, as if he has no idea.

And from the irrationality of his behaviour, it may be that he truly does not understand. I force myself to find my voice, and attempt to reply to his amazing question:

“Curumo, it appears you have forgotten some details of when we last spoke- do you truly not remember- what happened?”

He looks at me in wonder and confusion, and then looks away, over the expanse of his domain. His expression goes blank, and empty. “Saruman?” I try to regain his attention, but he is drifting somehow, dreamily surveying the landscape far below us.

“Curumo!” I shout at him weakly, and he turns to me finally, with a vacant look in his eyes.

“Mmmm- yes , Gandalf, I am listening to you. Something about Rohan, hmm? Pray, continue.”

My initial disbelief at his strange mental state has become shock, as I realize he is not doing this for my benefit, to deceive me.

“Do you think the army will be prepared in time?” he asks me gravely, and I have no time to muse on this enigmatic question, as he turns back to the edge,and leans over, looking down the hundreds of feet below. He is very close, too close, to the edge.

“Saruman! Listen to me- come back from there- please.”

I try again to get to my feet,and this time, motivated by alarm, I succeed, although in great pain. I move over to him with a sheer force of will, and ignoring the fire in my legs, carefully lay a hand on his shoulder.

He pulls back from the edge swiftly, and looks as if I have startled him. His dark eyes are wide and wild, and I say the only thing I can think of, that may help:

“Come, let us go back inside, and I will pour you some wine. Would you like that, my melda?”

I speak in the most gentle and loving voice I can find, not just out of compassion, but out of a genuine desire to get both of us away from the dangerous top of Orthanc. One slip, or moment of madness, and there would be no surviving such a fall.

“Yes- yes. I would like that.” he says quietly, “ But- what has happened? I feel – I have missed something. Or a great deal. The army, he needs it- wants it ready. Now. But it is not ready.”

I can almost hear the chaos in his mind, and I understand, finally, the severity of his condition. But what has brought his fine mind to such a state? It can only be that demented orb- the Palantir. He had said it was Sauron himself, speaking through it.

Saruman now looks at me as if he is trying to remember who I am, and suddenly turns on me again, but this time, before he can raise the Staff he clutches with a death grip, I spin and turn out of his way. With an angry sound, he wheels around and tries to aim the Staff at me. I can see my death in his eyes- he will kill me this time, and perhaps not even recall it in the morning. Of this, I am absolutely certain.

And then, like a miracle, I see out of the corner of my eye a large dark shape, flying towards me, and I understand : it is the Eagle Lord Gwahir, my last hope! Saruman takes no notice of it, he is too intent on trying to get a good shot at me. Fire roars out of the Staff and barely misses me. With the very last of my strength, I leap off the edge and onto the huge feathery back of the Eagle.

Saruman looks at me in disbelief and fury, and screams a vile curse at me in the Black Speech, and as his voice dies in the distance, I hear him shouting to me that I could have had it all, we could have had it all together, but I had thrown all my hope away now. He watches me from the edge of the Tower, and I think perhaps he is going to lose his balance and fall, and I close my eyes, not wanting to see, and unable to prevent it.

And perhaps, it would have been the better and kinder fate, for all concerned.

But he does not fall, and I ride Gwahir on the stormy winds of my fortune, back to freedom.


	7. Chapter Seven - Conclusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf and Saruman in the Early Days.

CONCLUSION: ( Gandalf and Saruman face each other at Isengard – after Helm’s Deep.)

 

 

It has come full circle, now, for both of us; he stands atop Orthanc, eyes blazing with such fury and madness that even from all the way down here, I can feel their rage.

I now confront him, I must confront him, there is no choice, no choice at all. To show weakness now, will be fatal for all of us.

When I finally told the Council of his treason, I knew that we had crossed the line, both of us. I had no choice. How I loathe having no choice.

How many things have happened now, good and terrible alike, and I have come back from the abyss of Death itself, and found myself now wearing the vestments of the White Wizard.

I have had to violently cast my dearest friend and ally from the body of a King that he had possessed and obsessed, and seen so much death and violence all around me, that I will never be the same.

Something is ruined in me now, somehow, just as Curumo is ruined from Sauron's deadly attentions through the many years.

I ride forward, and brutally force down my emotions- my love- for my fallen friend and lover.

No time for weakness.

He waits for me, as a cornered and rabid wolf faces the hunter, and I see him raise the Staff, preparing to attack.

”Saruman!”

I shout up to him, feeling a strange, total sense of despair, "Come down, and your life will be spared!" –

he seems to glow with anger at my words, and perhaps I could have chosen them better. Making him feel threatened was not my intention, but I must try to get him to surrender. There are those with me, who may let fly an arrow, out of pure fury at what he has done. He needs to relent.

"So! Have you come to kill me, or to spare me, Gandalf the White? Save your pity and your mercy, I have no use for it!"

I hear his snarling reply on the wind, and before I can answer him that, no, I do not want to hurt him, I am trying to protect him, I am terrified for him, the Staff is raised high- and then a huge flame cascades down at me. It reaches me in a matter of seconds, but I do not even feel it, save for a rush of heated air.

I cannot allow this to go on- if he is determined to launch such reckless attacks, I know my companions are going to kill him.

I ride forward again, and I raise my own Staff in reply: "Saruman- you leave me no choice- I must break your Staff, and remove your rank!" And without giving him a chance to attack again, I send forth the spell, and his Staff cracks apart in his hand, the black and metallic Staff of Aule the Smith falls apart.

Saruman curses me in Quenyan, and then in the Black Speech, for good measure.

"Now: Curumo- listen to me: you are no fool. You know you must yield. You must refrain from what you are doing- and you will be safe! No harm will come to you, but you must yield!"

Saruman falls silent, and I find hope that he may be actually listening. I try to think past the thunder of my heartbeat, and I continue:

"Trust me, Saruman. Do you not understand, you can trust me? I will not have you harmed, or even imprisoned. But please- please! – listen to me!"

Curumo listens in silence, and then a change seems to come over him, like a half-hearted miracle:

I see his expression slowly begin to lose the madness, and the anger. Behind him, for the first time, I can see Grima crouching, his face a mask of terror. Finally, after what seems like forever, Saruman replies:

"Even if I believe you, Olórin, what of – that other-? Do you think we would be safe from- him?? Do you know what he will do to me - to you? So much, that you do not understand! He will torture you to death, and for me, even worse, no doubt!"

I do not try to figure out what would be worse than being tortured to death, and answer him again:

"Come down, Curumo, Aratar! Come down, and at least we can face our fate side by side! Come down, and stand at my shoulder, and let us begin again!"

I hold my breath, afraid to even move, in anticipation and dread of his response. And then he disappears from the top of the Tower, and I wonder grimly what may be coming. Far behind me, Theoden, Gimli, Legolas, and Aragorn as well, wait with me, wait to see what will happen. Legolas has an arrow at the ready, even though I had asked him to not do so. They are too tense, too eager for "justice". I prefer, by far, mercy, and redemption.

This situation is exceedingly dangerous, for all concerned.

And if my old mentor would only fight alongside us- we just might have a chance against the Dark Lord.

Like a ghost of the past, Saruman very suddenly appears out of the doorway of Orthanc, and steps forward carefully, and cautiously, onto the muddy steps. Behind him, looking tormented and afraid – but relieved as well- slinks a very nervous Grima. Curumo regards us all with a sweeping glance, and then looks at me. I see something different, somehow, but what, I am not sure.

His eyes have lost the insane glaze that I have come to regard as normal for him in the past years; I can see something of the Istar I know, and remember. "Put down all your weapons!", I hastily shout to my companions- I am still greatly worried that if there is a wrong move made, they will let fly a fatal arrow at Saruman or Grima. "Mithrandir- do you think that's wise -" I hear Legolas say softly. But he takes the arrow and puts it back in the quiver. The others shift nervously on their steeds.

I look again to the dark eyes, and still he simply watches me, silently. The tension is too much for Gimli, who clears his throat loudly. Saruman does not even look his way, but he does finally speak:

"Olórin- I – I will trust you, then."

It is a monumental statement, and there are audible gasps behind us. I feel a powerful surge of emotion, and I force it back, but only barely. I know Saruman can see the tears in my eyes, and he frowns slightly, but says no more. He holds out a large ring of ancient keys, and I take them, nodding.

The Keys of Orthanc.

Aragorn speaks up now:

"Saruman- it is good you have found reason! We will take you back with us, as a prisoner of war now. You will be safe from both your own folly, and Sauron's evil."

"No!", I say quickly, and there are gasps, again.

"No- he will ride with me- but not as a prisoner! And Grima as well."

Saruman looks at me with what might be gratitude- or perhaps merely amusement - who can say? - and my companions regard me with looks of wonder and anger? As if I have taken the prey from the jaws of a ravening lion!

No, there will be no revenge, this day.

I will not see Saruman be humiliated, or disgraced, in any way.

I will not allow it.

He is, and always will be, my Aratar- and I love him well- too well.

And there may yet be, behind the depthless black eyes, and inside that ancient heart, the smallest whisper of hope.

 

FIN


End file.
